Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(30)

I went to my purse and dug out my phone. Then I called Martha. She was home. She wasn’t fine but she’d just opened a bottle of red wine in an attempt to get that way or at least put herself to sleep. We chatted until I heard the tremble go out of her voice. Then I hung up.

Then I walked to my bedroom to find a bare-chested Brock “Slim” Lucas in it, on his back, sheets to waist but hands to his face rubbing.

Those hands dropped when I hit the room but not before I remembered the last time he was in my bed, pressing the butts of his palms to his forehead, his manner conflicted and his expression would provide further evidence of that when he’d turned it to me.

This made a curl of apprehension writhe in my belly.

He rolled to his side and got up on a forearm while asking, “Babe, you gonna sleep on your feet or get in bed?”

I came unstuck, moved to my bed, pulled back the covers and got in cross-legged. Then I took off my glasses, set them on the nightstand, grabbed my tub of moisturizer and commenced moisturizing my face.

Face moisturized, I sucked up the courage to ask, “When I came in, what was on your mind?”

To my surprise, he didn’t hesitate to answer.

“What was on my mind was that Calhoun was the lead on the investigation into Heller.

Calhoun is a good man. A dedicated man. He and a lotta guys spent three years building up to that takedown. They made twelve arrests with that sweep and ten of those twelve are major players in Heller’s operation. That takedown was huge. Planned and orchestrated with precision and the man hours behind it are incalculable. No case is rock solid but what they got on all those guys is the closest I’ve ever seen. And I was thinkin’ that if that ass**le f**ks with you and I do what I had the near overwhelming urge to do tonight when I looked at his motherf*cking face seeing he had the balls to be standin’ right at your front door at ten o’clock at night, I’ll f**k all that.”

I was watching him as he spoke.

When he stopped, I asked, “What urge?”

Brock blinked up at me.

Then he asked a repeated, “What urge?”

“Yeah, what urge?”

He stared at me three seconds then leaned into me, grabbed the tub of moisturizer out of my hand, leaned deeper, half-tossing, half-placing it on my nightstand then, with his strong arm tight around my belly and hip, he pulled me into the bed and into him.

Once he had me settled, arm still firm around me, he said softly, “I am not a normal guy, Tess.”

I’d already got that.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“I’m the oldest boy, I got two sisters, a brother and Mom got us all in the divorce. Dad’s a decent guy but that didn’t mean he didn’t jack her around. He did. A lot. Too much. He and I have come to uneasy terms and, since he jacked her around so much, this took awhile but because of his shit, I grew up bein’ the man of the family. This started when I was seven. I did not learn to be the man I am from my Dad. The man I am is ingrained in me, starting at seven.”

I wasn’t sure I understood what he was saying but I was sure I thought it was fascinating and furthermore, I very much liked lying pressed close to him in my bed with his arm tight around me while he told me stories of his life.

“Okay,” I whispered again when he didn’t go on.

“What I’m sayin’ is, you do not f**k with a woman that means somethin’ to me. And when I say that, I mean, you do not f**k with a woman that means somethin’ to me.”

Oh my.

I got it.

“You wanted to hurt Damian,” I said quietly.

“Hurt? Yeah. In a way he’d feel that pain every f**kin’ day for the rest of his motherf*ckin’ life. In a way he’d never forget me. In a way he’d never forget the lesson I taught him. And in a way he’d think about you and instead of you giving precious headspace to wishin’ you never met him, his headspace would be filled with wishin’ he’d never f**ked with you.”

Before my mind told me to do it, my body pressed closer to his. But if my body asked my mind, my mind wouldn’t have argued.

I slid my hand up his hard chest, along his corded neck to come to rest on his stubbled jaw.

Then, looking deep into his eyes, I admitted, “I don’t have words.”

His arm got tighter and his face tilted on the pillow to get closer before he whispered,

“Tess, I learned somethin’ early about you. You are the only woman I know who doesn’t need words. Everything you do speaks for you and it never lies. Just your hand on me, babe, said it all.”

He held my eyes and I held my breath because he said that like he liked it, not a little, a whole bunch.

I nodded. His face got soft. Then it dipped to mine where he touched my mouth with his.

When he pulled back, he murmured, “Hit your light, darlin’.”

I nodded again, took my hand away and rolled. I turned out the light then curled on my side, pulled the covers over my shoulder, shoved my hands under my cheek and called,

“’Night, honey.”

Half a second later, I found my body hauled across the bed, my ass in the curve of his hips, his knees cocked into mine, his front pressed to my back, his arm tight around my belly and his lips at my hair.

Only then did he murmur, “’Night, Tess.”

Brock Lucas spooned.